Her Heart in his Hands
by laced-scrawl
Summary: Some say that love is enough to keep a relationship together...then again, they didn't have a psychotic wizard to deal with. Can Draco and Hermione's relationship survive the war, or will it be torn apart? Please R&R!


**Her Heart in his Hands**

**A/N: Hey everyone! It's been so long since I've written something Dramione related! I've been so busy and I've missed it so much! I've been writing this in between my coursework essays so I hope you like it! I have to say, it's probably the most depressing thing I've ever written in my life! Whether it's a reflection of my stressed out mood or the weather I don't know! Anyway, I hope you like it, and I'd love to know what you think so please review! laced-scrawl xxx**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot :) **

**Warning: Character death and the rating is only for the language!**

Sacrifice.

She was so _sick_ of that bloody word. She, Hermione Granger – lover of books and the enchanting ways in which writers manipulated the English language for their own intents and purposes, _hated_ a word.

Oh, the irony. She would have laughed if it wasn't so tragic.

She was so unbelievably tired of hearing it: _'Sacrifice this because you have to…Sacrifice that because it's the right thing to do…What's the problem? It's only a small sacrifice in comparison to a lifetime of freedom…Don't be selfish. Do it for the good of the world.'_

Never mind your heart.

Your heart that may well be _aching_ for him. Aching for his touch. His voice. His body. His soul.

That doesn't matter.

Because this is war. And war doesn't care for love. For desire. For happiness. War doesn't care about anything at all. Not even victory. Because, at the end of the day, everyone loses.

She was sick of awaking every morning to the darkness that was her life. For months now, she'd squeeze her eyes shut and force herself to keep them that way – locked in a firm, iron hold. Because when she was awake, she was hardly living. Sleep was her only escape. Once her nightmares had subsided of course. During the day, her head throbbed constantly with the amount of pressure she was under, and many a time she'd think to herself bitterly that an eighteen year old should not have to go through this kind of pain. She was too young. A child in her adult body. She'd never felt so vulnerable. It didn't help to see so many of the adults in her life become fractured souls of their former selves.

And then she'd become consumed by unimaginable guilt. Because what she was going through was nothing compared to Harry. She'd watch him every day, slowly becoming a man withered by the tolls of his tumultuous life, and feel her heart break for the boy she'd grown up with. The boy who'd sheepishly grin at her when he needed to copy her notes. The boy who'd relied on her to fix his mistakes with her unquestionable knowledge. The boy who'd kept her from throttling Ronald at the best of times. The boy who'd stayed up with her at night and talked to her about anything and everything.

The boy who could no longer look at her, because he knew her secret.

Nine months.

They had been together for exactly nine months before they'd had no choice but to split up. He was about to be whisked off to his family's manor to become a full-time death eater, and it was not safe for their relationship to continue.

As if it ever had been.

She'd kissed him for the last time in the Astronomy tower, attempting to put all of her love, desire and emotion into that one last kiss. She'd tangled her hands in his soft hair and committed the sensations to memory; the feel of his hair against her fingers, the feel of his lips against hers, the feel of his arms around her – holding on to her as though she was the most precious thing in the world. To him, she was. She was his salvation. His one chance at redemption. And he had to keep her safe.

And then they'd parted ways. She'd turned her back and walked away from him with an air of acceptance. Her passive face had remained intact throughout the entire journey back to the Gryffindor common room. It was late, around eleven thirty, and it was a Wednesday night, so she knew no one would be around. But keeping herself from breaking down seemed to be the last bit of control she had, and she wasn't relinquishing it for anyone.

Until she stepped through the portrait hole and found Harry by the fireplace. He'd waited for her, thinking that she'd been in the library studying. To this day, she didn't know what had possessed her to let her guard down; maybe it was the flurry of intense emotion she was feeling, or maybe she was just tired of the lies. But within half an hour, she'd managed to change the course of her friendship with Harry forever.

She'd broken down in tears and he'd held her close, being the perfect best friend. He'd sat her down and asked her to tell him what was wrong. His face, so full of worry and concern, soothed her, and she found herself relax a little.

She told him everything. How, over the course of the year, she'd managed to fall in love with Draco Malfoy. How, she'd known when he'd gotten his dark mark and loved him in spite of it. How, he was leaving for the manor because he had no other choice but to become a death eater.

And then she grabbed his hand and asked him if he'd let Draco join the Order.

Silence.

Thick, heavy silence greeted the end of her request, and she was sure Harry could hear her heart threatening to pound through her rib-cage. Her eyes had remained locked with his – a battle of amber and emerald – and she'd tried so hard to convey her feelings in that one look. Tried so hard to make him realise that he was her only hope. That he was _Draco's _only hope.

"No."

What followed was an intense argument, mainly consisting of Harry's hurt and angry voice echoing through the room. She'd never remember the details – it all seemed so long ago now and the her mind was full of so much – but certain words would always remain in her memory, mainly because they reminded her of bullets coated in poison: _'betrayal…how could you…can't believe…hate…enemy…never forgive you…'_

That was the last time she and Harry had spoken. Since then, four months had passed, and their friendship was a distant memory. Ron, Ginny and everyone else had been baffled – what on earth could have happened to cause their friendship to break down? It was almost like an unspoken agreement between the two of them to not tell anyone. Harry's reasoning was never known to Hermione, and it unsettled her greatly, but she supposed that he knew he needed her, or rather, needed her tactical, meticulous mind. If everyone knew, she'd be shunned. Forced out of the house. And that was a risk he probably wasn't willing to take.

In any other situation, she'd have felt used. But the thought of someone needing her was enough to quell those feelings.

So she sucked it up, hardened her heart, and got on with life. What other choice did she have?

The only thing stopping her from giving up was the faint sliver of hope that she carried around with her. It was only a small sliver – almost invisible – but she held on to it as tightly as she could, afraid of it disappearing into thin air, because if it did, she knew she'd never be able to get it back. It was that tiny scrap of hope that made her believe that one day, once all of this was over- the bloodshed, the loss, the death, the darkness, they would be together again.

Not because she was stupid. Naïve. Childish.

But because he held her heart in his hands. And she knew he always would.

She felt like she was being suffocated. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak. She felt as though someone was holding her underwater, pushing her down and holding her in place so that all she could do was hold her breath and slowly feel her lungs cry out for oxygen. All she needed was relief. Was air. And it would only come in the form of his love.

She, Hermione Granger, was hopelessly in love with a death eater.

And until she died, she always would be.

x-x-x

_The Valentine's Day Ball had been in full swing all evening. Hermione had managed to carry out her duties as a prefect, as well as enjoy herself immensely with her best friends. They'd all been working so hard lately, and the impending war was looming over them, casting a dark, threatening shadow over their world, that the ball was a welcome distraction. _

_She'd purposefully come without a date; some of the boys in Gryffindor had asked, but she and Draco had previously agreed to both come alone, and found that she'd actually enjoyed sharing meaningful, secret looks across the room. Knowing that she was hiding something from everyone filled her with an exhilarating feeling, and whilst she longed for the day where she could be with her boyfriend publically, she found herself admitting that she wasn't entirely opposed to the feeling. _

_By around one o'clock in the morning, the ball had begun to wind down. Hermione had taken off her heels and was slowly making her way to the Gryffindor tower. The only people left in the Great Hall were the couples slow dancing together, and as Hermione was the only one out of all her friends without a date, she felt that leaving was infinitely better than staying and watching. She smiled to herself at the memory of a besotted Harry dancing with Ginny, all of his former insecurities about dancing forgotten. Her thoughts wandered to Ron and Luna who had snuck out early to do Merlin only knew what. Even Neville had found himself a nice girl from Hufflepuff. The feeling of being alone had begun to stir in the pit of her stomach, and she realised that she actually missed Draco Malfoy. _

_She turned a corner and came face-to-face with the boy himself. Speak of the devil and he doth appear, she thought wryly, her eyes darting around the corridor to make sure no one was there, before allowing a smile to grace her lips. _

"_Evening, Granger."_

"_It's not exactly evening is it, Malfoy?" she replied, taking small steps towards him. _

"_Well I couldn't decide whether I thought it to be night or early morning, so I settled on evening," he said coolly, his eyes travelling over her body before resting on her face. She shivered at the look, recognising the lust in his grey orbs. _

"_In that case, good evening, Malfoy." _

_Draco smirked at their mutual formality before stepping forward, snaking his arm around her waist and kissing her firmly. Hermione gasped in surprise and he used it to his advantage, slipping his tongue inside to re-acquaint itself with hers. _

_When they broke for air, he leaned his forehead against hers and smiled. _

"_I've been wanting to do that all night."_

"_Me too," she responded breathlessly. His spontaneity had a tendency to leave her in a frazzled state, always wanting more. Before she could think of something more coherent to say, she heard footsteps of people approaching. Her eyes widened and Draco immediately let go of her. As he brushed past her to leave he whispered:_

"_Happy Valentine's day, beautiful."_

_And that short, bittersweet moment was precisely when Hermione realised that she was in love with Draco Malfoy. And, more importantly, that he loved her too._

x-x-x

Torture. Kill. Dispose.

All in a day's work. It was a pretty mundane routine after a while. Lucius had warned him before he'd gotten his dark mark – '_once you've seen one mutilated body, you've seen them all_.' And whilst he'd been sure his father was wrong, Draco had taught himself to believe it, because Voldermort could sense weakness a mile off, and he abhorred it with a passion. If he wanted to get through this war alive and in one piece, steeling himself against things like death and torture was a necessity.

He found that it was getting harder and harder to keep up his mask of arrogant indifference. It seemed the toils of war were finally taking a toll on him, mentally and physically. He was fighting constantly, if not against Harry Potter's do-gooders, it was against himself. He still hadn't managed to work out which he thought was worse.

The truth was that he hated fighting against his past professors – the people who had educated him and seen him grow from a boy to a man in the space of seven years. He hated causing unnecessary bloodshed and disaster – there had been so many times where he'd had to instigate attacks for no apparent reason other than for the enjoyment of his master. He hated hearing the screams of tortured people, and had long since realised that death was sweeter than life. Because to be tortured by evil left marks so _fucking _deep, that they could never be removed.

But a job's a job. And being a death eater meant a lifetime commitment. If you're late or mess up in a normal job, you get a warning. A telling off. Fired at the most. If you manage to fuck up being a death eater – and there were so many ways to do it – you were killed.

Instantly.

Just like that.

Voldermort had no time for incompetence.

There was a part of him that was good. A small, shrivelled part that he hid deep inside himself. It wasn't allowed to surface. He had forbidden it. Because that part of him was weak, and however small it was, still held enough power to grow and begin to influence the intricate workings of his mind.

And once he began to doubt himself, danger began to seep into his life.

So he steeled himself against it. Shielded himself from the light to protect the darkness within him. Because Voldermort had no time for light, and so neither did he or any of his other followers. And besides, the darkness was safer. It conceals the horrors that the light illuminates.

He knew from experience.

It wasn't all doom and gloom though: Voldermort provided an abundance of pure-blood whores for his followers – wanting them to take their frustrations out on the worthless women so that they were relaxed and ready to do his bidding without a risk of them royally fucking up. Voldermort's plans could never be tampered with. There was no room for failure. As a death eater, Draco had little choice but to take advantage of what was offered to him. He'd pick one at random, his eyes sweeping over her quickly to make sure she was at least _decent_, before going off to a private room with her and doing what had to be done. Never would he talk to them. Not even to ask them their name. Details were irrelevant. Many a time he'd lay in the dark afterwards, sweaty and tenser than he had been before, and he'd try to force _her_ face out of his mind.

But it was always useless. Because it would never go away. It remained behind his eyelids with the single intent to torture him, and he always welcomed the pain. Because if he felt pain, it meant he was being tormented for the evil he committed on a daily basis. It meant that he was being punished. It meant that he still had the ability to feel. And that mattered more to him than anything else in the world.

So he killed and he tortured and he fucked around, because it was all he could do to stay alive. He took his internal pain out on others because he couldn't do anything else – there was no going back for him now. The knowledge of her definite disappointment in him if she ever found out about his life now burned more than hot lava, but he welcomed it because he knew it meant that he was still alive.

It baffled him how one girl could have impacted his life so greatly. Draco Malfoy knew that the bushy-haired, brown-eyed witch had captured his heart, and he knew he'd never be able to get it back. He knew that she'd never be able to forgive him for what he'd done. That she'd never look at him in the same way again. He knew, the moment that she'd walked away from him, that she'd never come back. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but in their case, it simply made them a lot deeper.

He'd always love her. Always need her. Always want her. But any hope he held for them ever being together had evaporated long ago. Now all their relationship was to him was a series of fractured memories that sometimes played like a movie in his mind. Memories that he had to keep under lock and key in case they were ever discovered. It was when he allowed them to play that he realised how truly alone he was.

And how he'd be alone until the day he died.

x-x-x

She was the only person who visited his grave. The only person who bought him flowers, cleaned the headstone. Sat with him. Talked to him.

She would spend hours there telling him about her day; what had happened at work, what was going on with all of her friends, how much she missed him. And she always imagined his sultry, husky voice replying in her mind. It amazed her how she still remembered it after so long. She'd forgotten so many things, but remembered everything to do with him.

The war had finally ended seven months ago. Harry had defeated Voldermort and the Wizarding world suddenly became a place of sorrowful mourning. So much time had gone into fighting that no one knew what to do with themselves. The job of cleaning began and that was possibly the worst part – bits and pieces of bodies had been found anywhere and everywhere, shops and houses were destroyed, and blood stained the streets.

Harry had spent two full weeks in St Mungos before finally coming out of his coma. Since then, his life had been a whirlwind of press conferences, interviews and check-ups to make sure he was ok. As soon as he'd felt up to it, he'd proposed to Ginny and they'd gotten married in a small ceremony at the Burrow. Hermione had been maid of honour, and Ron had been best man.

Despite this, it had taken Harry a further two months to forgive Hermione. The day she got his forgiveness was also the day she lost her life.

She'd been eating breakfast at the Burrow when the Daily Profit had arrived. The front page headline had been: _Body of Death Eater Found in Diagon Alley. _Her heart beat had begun to speed up as she read the article, before it managed to stop altogether at the sight of his name.

Draco Malfoy.

Her blood had turned to ice and she still remembered the sickening feeling that had swept over her, blurring her vision and blocking the sound from her ears. Her heart seemed to break into a thousand pieces and her lungs refused to take in any air.

He was dead.

Harry had witnessed her reaction and realised from the first look at her pale, bloodless face, that she loved him uncontrollably.

And now her heart was broken.

She went to visit him three times a week, working her life around it. It was her one saving grace. Without it, she knew that nothing would stop her from driving a knife through her wrist.

She knew that she had to keep living for him. They'd had so many dreams of their future – even though they'd never shared them with each other, and she knew that before she joined him, she had to fulfil them.

"It's funny," she said to his beautiful marble headstone, a swirl of grey and white that reminded her so much of his eyes. "I always thought that if one of us died, the intensity of our feelings for each other would weaken a little. But now I see how wrong I was. I love you more," she sniffed, laying her flowers down. "People say I'll move on eventually, but they don't understand. How can I when I don't even have my heart to give to someone else?"

And wherever he was, at these words, Draco Malfoy smirked triumphantly. Because he knew, as well as she did, that he held her heart firmly in his hands, and because of that, she'd love him eternally. Just as he did her.

**A/N: See what I meant about depressing? :P Killing Draco broke my heart but I honestly thought it was best for the story. Please let me know what you think – even if it's to tell me how irritated you are at me for killing Draco! Thank You! laced-scrawl xxx**


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